


cuddles but make it (mostly) angst

by polkaprintpjs



Series: old west au [5]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Bad Weather, F/F, Humanformers, POV Second Person, Storm - Freeform, old west au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:34:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26111215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polkaprintpjs/pseuds/polkaprintpjs
Summary: You grab at her arm as she grabs at yours, and you let her kick herself free as you watch the sky.Over the course of the day, it’s passed from a strange and unfamiliar blue to the bruise-green smudge it is now, and something in you screams to make for shelter, to curl beneath a stone and wait it out.
Relationships: Tailgate/Whirl
Series: old west au [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893397
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	cuddles but make it (mostly) angst

You wish you’d taken the Jones’s up on their offer of shelter for the night.  Tailgate would have been worried sick, but at least you’d have half a chance of seeing her again. 

The wind is picking up and Cyclonus stumbles beside you, her heavy skirts wrapping around her ankles.  You grab at her arm as she grabs at yours, and you let her kick herself free as you watch the sky. 

Over the course of the day, it’s passed from a strange and unfamiliar blue to the bruise-green smudge it is now, and something in you  _ screams _ to make for shelter, to curl beneath a stone and wait it out. 

Cyclonus tightens her grip for a moment, then releases you. 

“We should go,” 

She says and you nod, eye still on the ponderous clouds. Something  _ cracks _ , and you both duck. 

“Yeah,” you say, and your voice is thin.  “We need to hurry.” 

She shares your unease, and by the time you see the town’s dark smear on the horizon you’re both nearly running. There’s a chill in the air overlaying the smoggy heat and you think, wildly, that you must’ve caught sunstroke, and a fever with it. 

The wind presses against your back and you have the oddest idea that this must be how the birds feel. 

The ominous feeling in the air is a distinct threat, now, and when you turn toward the tiny creek running parallel to the road, she grasps at your arm. You stumble to a halt. 

“We’re not going to make it,” you shout, because now the wind  _ howls _ around you both. 

She leans into your space, eyes closed against the stinging dust, and you repeat yourself. 

“We won’t make it. The water- we need lower ground!” 

The wind goes quiet halfway through your words and you grab her hand and you  _ run _ . She doesn’t argue, either, just gathers her skirts clear of her ankles and keeps pace. You hit the bank of the creek- ditch, more like- just as a stone splashes the water. 

“Hail,” she says and yes, the ice is already gone, swept by the trickle turned to stream. 

You hop down, water coming up to your shins. You turn to help her, but Cyclonus is already climbing to join you. 

Thud thud thunk the hail comes, and you close your eyes as you kneel and pull her with you. When the next hailstone falls, it strikes your hip and you hiss at the pain. It’s near the size of your fist and your gut clenches with fear. 

She curls down, arms coming up to cover her head and neck. You lean over her, torso protecting her skull and arms braced on either side of her back. 

Startled, she starts to sit up, but you shift so you can hold her still with one forearm pressed on her back.

“ Whirl,” she says and tries to rise but a hailstone hits your back and you forget how to breathe. 

The wind is droning, now.

* * *

  
You don’t remember the storm dying down any more than you remember Cyclonus half-carrying you home, which is to say you recall disjointed moments and no more. 

You’re on your front, arms at your sides. You try to push yourself upright, but a gentle hand on your shoulder as much as a wave of  _ fire _ in your torso presses you back down. 

“‘Gate?” You mumble, catching a flash of her dress out of the corner of your eye. 

“You’re awake,” She says and even the throbbing pain across your back can’t drown out her relief. 

She leans down and presses her forehead to yours and you close your eye and rest in her smell, cloth and lavender and grease from the bar and  _ Tailgate _ . 

She stays there when she speaks again. 

“You’re awake. When Cyclonus brought you in-” 

Her voice breaks a bit here, and you wish again you’d stayed at the Ranch to spare her this worry. 

“She took you to Ratchet, and he sent Drift to get me. I- how are you feeling?” 

She stands and smooths your hair back and her apron down and you miss the closeness, the comfort. 

“Been worse,” You say because it’s true. When your hands were half-crushed and your eye- well. You’ve been worse. “Is Cyclonus all right?” 

She gathers the hair from your neck and the sudden lack of sweat-wet heat is a blessed relief. 

“She’s well. A few bruises, but nothing too terrible. She went to bring some tea- Ratchet only has the one blend and she wanted to be sure you had something when you woke.” 

You’re thirsty, you realize. “Can-” 

She seems to know exactly what you need, and steps away to pour a cup of water. She lets your hair back down, which is suddenly more of a misery than you’d thought. 

She carefully dribbles the water into your mouth, drop by drop, and won’t let you rise to take the cup. 

“You’ve got some cracked ribs, Whirl. Just be still, all right?” 

You let her continue and pretend your selfishness doesn’t make your skull ache with guilt in a way the headache can’t compete with. 

The door opens quietly and Cyclonus speaks before you have time to worry. 

“She is awake?” 

Tailgate answers, but the sound of Cyclonus’s voice sends the room fuzzy with relief. 

She’s all right, and no amount of pain or injury to yourself is half so important. 

“Cyclonus,” you say. 

Your voice is low and raspy and you wince. 

You can hear her footsteps as she crosses the room. 

Cyclonus slowly, so slowly rests her hand on your hair and your eye pricks with something like tears. 

“Whirl. I- I wanted to thank you.” She pauses and you can feel her pulse where her wrist rests on your neck. It’s fast and steady. “You were injured protecting me, and I know Ratchet said you will not work for at least a month' s time.” 

Your own pulse rockets at that; Tailgate’s earnings at the bar won’t cover the house’s rent and your own wages go to food and paying the loans that got the two of you here in the first place. She keeps going, though, hand smoothing your hair gently. 

“I wish to offer my wages to help, until you are back on your feet. It is the least I can do, after what you did-” 

You cut her off, the idea of being  _ compensated _ for keeping her safe as you could burning your throat and low into your gut. 

“I don’t want your money.” You try to soften your harshness. “I didn’t do it because I wanted you to pay me. What was I going to do, let a lady get all banged up on my watch?” 

She stills and your body feels electric, too-honest words slipping from your lips. When she speaks, you know she heard your meaning. 

“I thank you, regardless. I had no fear of that, Whirl. You are kind to me, and heroic besides.” 

Her voice is teasing and your flush is only partly from embarrassment. She pulls her hand away, but only to gather your hair again from your neck. She carefully twists it and you see Tailgate pass her a bit of ribbon from her own hair to tie it with. 

You swallow, cheek against the pillow, and accept the water when Tailgate offers it again. 

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr @megatronismegagone  
> am currently obsessed with old west whirl and have little else to say. come say hi anyway


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